Igniting the Flame
by SailorCheesy
Summary: Francis is too old for America, too boring, too mature. He's not spontaneous enough, and he fears he can't keep up with Alfred's fast-paced lifestyle. Alfred is too young for Francis, too immature, too needy, too big. He can't do anything romantic without messing up. In short, both believe the other too good for them. [De-anon from the kink meme.]
1. Chapter 1

"Do you like it?" Francis asked, blinking soft cerulean eyes at his boyfriend from across the dinner table. Alfred had been been pushing his _Soupe à L'oignon_ back and forth across the pristine plate provided by the restaurant for the past half hour. It was obvious something was bugging the man, but it was equally obvious Alfred didn't want to talk about it.

"Huh?" The bespectacled blond looked up and then nodded. "Yeah, it's good." He replied, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You've hardly touched it," argued the Frenchman, brows furrowed. "_Mon amour_, what is bothering you? You have barely said a word to me all night."

"Nothing's wrong." Alfred retorted quickly. "I'm fine. The Soup Log thing is great."

Francis winced at the terrible pronunciation of the word, but let it slide in favor of leaning over the table a bit more. Of course, not so much that his elbows touched the table. That would exhibit bad manners, and he had been trying to break Alfred of this habit.

"Alfred, please."

Francis bit his bottom lip as he gazed at his lover. Alfred had been acting so strange since the last world meeting, and Francis was at his wits end. The American was nothing like his usual bubbly self. Whenever the two talked, whether it be via text, videochat, or in real life, Alfred seemed so distant.

The American was no longer enthusiastic about going on dates, and didn't invite Francis on them. In fact, he hadn't made any attempts at contacting Francis at all. If it wasn't for Francis calling and texting him everyday, the two wouldn't have talked once in the months they were apart.

"I said it was nothing." Alfred insisted, dropping his fork. It clattered against the plate as Alfred turned a sad gaze upon Francis. "I'm not not feeling well, that's all."

Francis sighed. Perhaps choosing to go to a restaurant like this had been a bad choice... After all, the place was rather fancy, and a bit old... Alfred was young, he wanted to go to more modern places. Francis thought himself to be incredibly foolish for even picking such a sophisticated place. Surely Alfred was acting this way simply because he was bored of this atmosphere.

Although... Francis himself was old, much older than Alfred. Could it be that Alfred was bored with Francis himself? The Frenchman had never been that exciting; he didn't know how to sweep Alfred off his feet any other way than typical romancing, and it was clear that Alfred did not want such things. Otherwise, why would he act so uninterested? It was becoming increasingly clear to Francis that Alfred was bored of their relationship.

Francis hadn't the slightest clue how to spice it up, without pursuing something in his second area of expertise; sex. This was another thing Alfred seemed entirely uninterested in, and Francis wasn't surprised. He had been very promiscuous in the past, so it wasn't entirely irrational to assume that Alfred found it unappealing and simply did not want to be where so many others had been.

Just then, Alfred made a small noise, almost like a tiny scream, before falling from his chair and landing face-first against the polished wood floors of the extravagant restaurant.

"Alfred!" Francis cried worriedly, sliding from his chair onto the floor. "What happened?!"

Alfred groaned, slowly sitting up. As he did so, he hastily pushed something behind his back, unbeknownst to Francis, who was worriedly inspecting his head.

"I was leaning back in my chair." Alfred lied, pushing Francis' hands off of him.

The Frenchman stood up, unsure how to feel about the fact that his beloved had shoved his hands away. "Of course. Let's go, _oui_?"

"Sure," Alfred said, and sadness was overwhelmingly evident in his tone.

Francis nodded, his blond curls bouncing as he did so. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Meanwhile, Alfred looked dejectedly down at the crushed rose that he had fallen on and sighed as he kicked it underneath the table and out of Francis' sight.


	2. Chapter 2

This night was not going the way Alfred had planned. At all. When Francis had invited him out, he had planned to sweep the man off his feet with his amazing flirting skills and top notch romancing. But then, he realized they were going somewhere really nice, and he was wearing a t-shirt... Then he noted that Francis was wearing a black suit that hugged his body in all the right places, and, standing there in his Superman shirt, Alfred was reminded of just how immature he was compared to his sophisticated French lover, and he was immensely discouraged.

As the night progressed, he couldn't help but finding it hard to have fun. Every time he looked up, Francis was saying something he had to explain, or scold him for doing something wrong, or help him pronounce French things. Francis seemed to become agitated by the end of the night as well, probably because he couldn't stand Alfred's childlike attitude anymore.

As a last resort at fixing the date Alfred blamed himself for spoiling, he leaned over, attempting to snatch a rose out of a vase on the table beside theirs while Francis wasn't looking. As he was doing so, he had leaned a bit too far over, and, rose in hand, fell over. The hand holding the delicate and beautiful flower was crushed, along with any hope of this date getting better.

As he got to his feet, brushing Francis off along the way, Alfred kicked the flower beneath the table and waited for him to pay. Alfred had forgotten his wallet, being the idiot he was. On top of that, he had ordered something expensive that he didn't even eat. Francis was probably seething internally, he thought.

"Ready?" Francis asked with a soft smile.

It seemed off, and Alfred knew it must be stretched across his face like animal skin against a drum; tight and forced. He felt shame growing within him, knowing the man's forced smile was caused by Alfred's childlike behavior.

"Yeah." Alfred answered as he shrugged on his jacket.

Francis nodded and lead him out, sighing when they hit the brisk air of Paris in the fall.

Outside, the world was silent. Inside Alfred's head, a war raged on, a battle between giving up on the relationship and letting his hart be broken, or pushing until he could push no more and at least attempt to make things better.

Streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks of the empty Paris street, casting golden light upon Francis and allowing the most beautiful glimmer to come to the man's eyes. A cold breeze swept around, brushing through the wavy locks of pale blond hair that Alfred loved to run his hands through. Then, he thought of all the others that had ran their hands through it, that had tugged at it while they leaned forward and stole Francis' lips, and he thought of how much better they would have done it than how Alfred was thinking of doing it. Suddenly, he couldn't even look at Francis' hair.

"Alfred." Francis had come to a stop outside a closed bridal shop.

The American stopped as well, turning to face him. "Huh?"

Francis came forward, grabbing the edges of his bomber jacket. "I'm sorry." He said, pulling Alfred down so their lips would meet.

Alfred melted, instinctively wrapping his arms around Francis' waist. He had been pulling Francis closer when he opened his eyes for only the briefest of seconds, and he noted that Francis was straining on his tiptoes just to kiss him. Alfred tightened his grip around the man's waist, and it was then that Francis' size was brought to his attention.

It wasn't the first time Alfred had realized about his height and weight in comparison to his lover's, but it mattered more now than ever.

He pulled back abruptly, releasing Francis with a gulp.

"Alfred?" Francis blinked up at him, looking hurt. "_Mon amour_..." He reached out, trailing a few fingers down Alfred's arm before they reached his hand. The Frenchman took it. "What am I doing wrong?"

Alfred looked down at their joined hands. Even his hand was so much bigger than Francis'. He recoiled, shaking his head. "You're not doing anything." He mumbled.

Francis sighed, finally having enough of the other's closed-off attitude. "Alfred, tell me what's wrong. Please, _mon amour_, if I am doing something to make you upset, you should be mature about it and tell me."


	3. Chapter 3

Francis certainly wasn't expecting the reaction he got from his words. He was expecting Alfred to take a deep breath, nod, and then proceed to tell him what was bothering. The Frenchman knew that Alfred was hesitant to bring up problems he had with their relationship, and thus forth Francis was used to having to coax it out of Alfred. In fact, he wasn't expecting Alfred to tell him just yet; he was prepared to have to ask Alfred a few more times before he actually got anything other than mumbling out of the younger man.

He certainly wasn't mumbling now.

"What, so you think I'm too immature?!" Alfred shouted, taking a step forward. He may have been yelling, but he didn't look angry as much as he did saddened. "I knew you thought that! I know you think I act like a little kid, so why don'tcha just c'mon and say it to my face, will ya?!"

"Wha...?" Francis blinked, at a complete loss for words. Alfred never yelled at him like this.

"You don't need to act all clueless or whatever, okay?! I know you're annoyed!" Alfred folded his arms across his chest and clenched his teeth.

He couldn't help the outburst; he had been worrying almost nonstop since their last date that Francis wanted to break up, and Alfred didn't want that to happen. He loved Francis, loved him so much, he had been trying for the past two months to become mature. He had even asked Arthur for lessons in manners, even though he had to swallow up his pride to do it.

But all of it was going to be for nothing now. He had proved just how much of a child he really was by yelling at Francis instead of explaining. Now that his head had cleared a bit, all he could gauge from Francis' expression was annoyance. He sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled shakily. His eyes were beginning to burn, and Alfred almost hated himself for beginning to cry at a time like this.

_How selfish can I possibly get?_ Alfred thought to himself. Here he was, crying for himself because he was going to loose Francis, and he had just practically screamed at the man for no reason. He couldn't imagine how confused and upset Francis must be. At least the Frenchman had tried to piece things back together. All Alfred could do was sit there and wallow in his self-pity like the little kid he was until Francis came to fix it.

"I wasn't annoyed, Alfred." Francis said, looking up at the man. His heart was cracking at the sight of his sweet, sweet Alfred about to cry. How could he have done this? How could he have made him cry?! Clearly the stress of having someone so uptight around him all the time had brought out this reaction from the American. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Alfred sniffled.

"I know I can be a bit boring at times, and I know that frustrates you. I did not know it bothered you so much..." Francis said, looking down. Now that Alfred knew he knew, they'd have to break up. Alfred was already too disgusted with him to touch him, anyway.

"Wh-What's that supposed to mean?! Why the hell would I ever think you're boring?! This isn't even about me, okay?! You always get so annoyed with me! Why are you even trying to hide it, huh?! You're such a hypocrite! You tell me to talk about it and you don't bother to tell me how much you fucking hate me! That really sucks, you know?! It hurts even worse when you do shit like that!"

"I wasn't doing anything!" Francis retorted, a bit angered by being called a hypocrite. He had only been trying to fix it, and Alfred was yelling at him even more now.

"You're ALWAYS doing something! You're always fixing it! You just swoop in and do everything 'cause you think I'm too much of a fucking baby to do it myself!"

"I never said anything like that!" Francis' voice raised above it's normal volume, his eyes darkening with anger. "I simply wanted to make things better because you're disgusted by me! Then you go and act like a _con _and make me think you were right when you said you were a child!"

Alfred sucked in a huge breath. "Disgusted with YOU?! You're disgusted with ME! I know I'm not as good as the other boyfriends and girlfriends and whatever the hell you've had, and I know I'm certainly not as small as them!" Alfred was yelling at the top of his lungs at this point.

"Why would I care how small you are?!" Francis cried, finally raising his voice to Alfred's volume. "You're better than anyone I've ever been with, because I love you more than anyone I've ever been with! Do you understand that?! I doubt you're bad at sex, and even if you were, I am not an expert for nothing! I would show you, damn it! Do not act as if you have all these faults that cannot be helped!"

"I LOVE YOU TOO!" Alfred hollered. "That's why I've been acting this way! 'Cause I'm not as fucking romantic or handsome or perfect as the other people you've dated! And then when I try to be, nothing goes right! It rains whenever I want to take you on a picnic in the park, we have a freak heatwave when I want to take you ice skating, I end up face-first on the ground when I try to grab you a fucking rose!"

Francis froze. "Is that what happened in the restaurant?"


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred looked down, wiping away tears. "Yeah..." He mumbled, his voice watery. He didn't elaborate, though he wanted to, because his throat had constricted so much he couldn't manage to say anything else without his voice cracking, and he didn't want Francis to hear him in such an embarrassing state. Of course, it was probably too late for that.

"You... You were trying to grab me a rose?" Francis asked, melting as he said it. To know that Alfred had been so thoughtful made his heart flutter, distracting him from his anger.

The younger nation nodded wordlessly. Francis was surprised, he could tell, and he knew it was because he never did anything romantic. He simply wasn't good at it like the elder was, and, of course, that would bring about the destruction of his relationship.

"_Mon amour_, why didn't you tell me?" Francis asked softly, laying his hand on Alfred's arm.

"Because... You woulda laughed at me... I know I'm shitty at all this romance stuff but every time I even try, it gets all messed up..." He sniffled.

Francis could only sigh and cluck his tongue. "Now, look at what a fool I've made myself," he said sweetly, "and all because I was worried you were bored of me. When it reality, you just have terrible luck!"

Alfred shook his head, pushing his hand off. "D-Don't try to make me feel better! Just get on with it already," he told him angrily.

"What, exactly, am I supposed to be getting on with?" Francis grabbed Alfred by the shoulder, pulling him back.

"Breaking up with me." Alfred stated bitterly.

Francis stopped, his hand slipping off of the taller male. "Is that what you want?" He asked, feeling a pang in his chest as he forced the words out.

"It's what you want! I-I'm sick and tired of you pity dating me! I'm not fucking good enough for you!"

"I'm not pity dating you!"

"Yes you are! How could you not be?! You're so handsome and mature! You're always doing stuff right and you manage to make me happy all the time! I can't do that for you! You deserve someone better!"

"You do make me happy! How could you possibly think I want to leave you?!"

Alfred whipped around, and for a split second, Francis thought Alfred was going to hit him as the taller reached out. Then, he was being pulled forward, Alfred's hands at his waist as he brought his lips to the Frenchman's.

The American kissed him fervently and with obvious passion, holding Francis a few inches off the ground throughout the entire kiss. The entire thing only lasted about thirty seconds, but Francis got more out of those thirty seconds than he had out of this entire argument. Alfred had communicated his feelings best in the way he claimed to be the worst at.

Alfred set Francis down, simply gazing at him with a soft sigh. He loved Francis so much, what would he do without him? He always managed to bring him back down to earth and help him see what was truly important. When Alfred thought he wasn't doing things right, Francis found a way to make him feel like he was the best at it. Alfred certainly felt proud of himself when he saw the way Francis's face was pink, how he looked slightly dizzy, as if he had been completely overwhelmed.

"_Dieu_, where have you been hiding that?" Francis asked breathily before snatching Alfred's wrists and pushing him back against the wall of the bridal shop, leaning forward to kiss him hotly. He wanted to convey his feelings the way Alfred had; wanted to make him see how passionate he truly was about their relationship, how strongly he believed they had a real connection.

America simply let himself be pushed back, his hands finding Francis' silky blond locks. He ran his hands through them, tugging at the strands whenever he thought Francis was going to stop and pull back as a way to tell him _more_. They barely parted, only to breathe, and even that seemed like too much time for both of them.

It wasn't long before both of the men were beginning to feel a growing heat between their legs, though Alfred sooner than Francis. He tried not to let it show, but Francis was becoming a bit rougher as well, and Alfred knew his thoughts were wandering into a more lust-ridden state of mind.

Alfred pushed him back a bit, breathing heavily. "F-Franny..."

"My hotel?" Francis asked, beginning to kiss Alfred's neck.

The younger felt his knees weakening and his face heated up. In another moment, he had grabbed the back of the man's shirt for support and began to nod weakly. "Y-Yeah..."

Francis smiled, pulling back for a split second to grab Alfred's hand. "Come, it's just around the block." He informed the American, tone low and a glint in his eye.

They were there in a matter of minutes, perhaps sooner if Francis hadn't wanted to stop every thirty seconds to kiss and nip at any exposed skin he could find on Alfred. He was too handsome for his own good... Every squeak, every shaky breath, every time Alfred tightened his grip on the man... All of this was encouragement to Francis, only wanting him to bite harder, kiss him longer, pull him closer, expose more skin. Anything he could to make Alfred act this way.

Finally, the door was unlocked, and Alfred was lying on the bed with Francis hovering over him. The Frenchman looked down at him, smiling softly at the gorgeous man before him.

And then he thought of what Alfred must be thinking. Was he whimpering because he wanted to stop, and he was just afraid to say so? Perhaps he'd want to go here and no further... Francis blinked down at his lover and almost heaved a sigh, for he knew he could never erase his past promiscuity, and how could Alfred want to be with someone like that?

The Frenchman was about to drop down beside Alfred and claim fatigue when the American grabbed his collar, blinking up at him with electric blue eyes clouded over with lust.

"W-Wait..."


	5. Chapter 5

Francis blinked, raising an eyebrow at the younger male beneath him. "Hm?" He asked softly.

Alfred reached out, resting his hands on Francis' hips, giving him a slight pout. "Is it 'cause I'm not as experienced as you?" He asked, his voice quiet and low, afraid it might crack should he raise it.

Francis looked down at the American, shifting to better straddle his hips. One of his hands ran through Alfred's hair, the other took his hand. He intertwined his fingers with the other man's, pressing the back of Alfred's tan hand into the plush mattress.

"Non, of course not..." He said, taking Alfred's other hand and repeating the process.

The American blinked, confusion flashing through his eyes behind his spectacles. "What is it then? I... I know I'm not like your other lovers..."

Francis leaned forward, planting a tender kiss to his lips. "We already went through this," he replied, "you're better."

"Then how come you won't—" Alfred was cut off by his own squeak as Francis began to suck on his collarbone. "F-Franny—C'mon, this isn't fair—I just wanna know why you don't wanna—Ah..." Alfred was confused as to why Francis had almost stopped, but now even more confused as to why he had decided to continue. Was he trying to distract him? It surely seemed like it, considering he had Alfred pinned to the bed and had busied himself kissing every visible inch of his neck.

Francis pulled back, still refusing to release Alfred's hands. "I do want to." He protested. "I just did not think you wanted to."

"Why wouldn't I want to? Y-You're all hot and good at it and stuff... I'm not... I'm not like you, or your other lovers... They were probably all good and... I just don't want to do it wrong..."

"Hm? Are you saying you've never had sex, mon amour?"

"No!" Alfred exclaimed, flushing. "I have... A few more times than I can count, but... Come on, you're the country of love. You're known for you expertise in love and sex."

"Ah, but... There is something that many do not know about me. I am also an amazing teacher."

Alfred gulped, then nodded. "Teach me your ways, oh great one." He joked, his mouth turning upward in a grin.

Francis rolled his eyes, started undoing Alfred's buckle, and wiped the grin right off his face.

* * *

><p>When Francis woke, he felt refreshed and happy. Turning over onto his belly, one arm outstretched to wrap around his American lover, he was shocked. His pale hand hit the white sheets, not meeting the warm body of Alfred at all. Confused, he sat up, looking around. Alfred was nowhere to be seen.<p>

The hotel room was rather luxurious, with four other rooms; a kitchen, a bathroom, the bedroom, and a small living room-like area. Perhaps Alfred had gone to one of the other rooms for some reason, he assured himself as he scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed the first item he found; his own boxers. It was then that he noticed that none of Alfred's clothes were there.

He had gotten dressed? Not even his shoes were there... Francis' heart sank as he stood, clad in only his boxers. Alfred had left. There was no other explanation. Even still, he called out for Alfred multiple times as he searched all the rooms, finding no sign of the American even being there.

He went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, seeing evidence of last night in the form of hickeys, scratches on his back, and marks made from love bites. Francis gingerly ran two fingers over a small scratch, remembering how Alfred had dug his nails into his skin lightly. Perhaps he had been too rough... Had that been it? Francis realized he had been rather passionate last night... But Alfred had seemed so into it, too... They had even switched positions three times, and Alfred topped for two of them! How could Alfred have not been happy with it?! Francis was! It was some of the best sex he had ever had. It was more than just sex to him. Alfred was his lover, his partner, and being bonded in such a special way had meant something to him.

He felt tears burning in his eyes. Apparently it hadn't meant much of anything to Alfred. Intent on finding out what happened, he went back to the bedroom and snatched up his phone. He went through his contacts quickly, and clicked on Alfred's name, which had three hearts and an American flag beside it, courtesy of the younger blond.

He smiled at the contact photo despite the burning in his eyes, furiously wiping away the tears. It was the two of them together after their third date; Francis had wanted to take a picture, and just as the photo was being taken, Alfred had grabbed his face and kissed him. Francis' eyes were wide in shock, a blush on his face.

Just then, he heard the doorknob turning, and after a moment, Alfred appeared in the room. "Hey." He said. He was holding a brown paper bag emblazoned with a restaurant knob.

Francis stood up, looking relieved. "Alfred! Where did you go?! I thought—I thought..."

Alfred smiled softly. "I bought crepes. You know... 'Cause you're French." He set the bag down on the floor, kneeling beside it and pulling out two plastic takeout containers, two bottles of chocolate milk, and two sets of plastic silverware, plus a few napkins.

And Francis happily sat down on the floor beside Alfred and leaned against him, the other still wearing his large bomber jacket as he opened the two boxes. The aroma of Americanized cuisine filled the room, and they both ate happily, one mostly naked and the other fully clothed, enjoying each other's company in happy silence.

After they were both finished, Alfred turned to Francis. "So... Round 2?"


End file.
